


Kozyrev Mirrors

by SandrC



Series: Hey There Centaurs! [3]
Category: Not Another D&D Podcast (Podcast)
Genre: Closed Loop Time Travel, Fia being a chronurgist is important to me, sometimes you need to be someone you could have looked up to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28888668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandrC
Summary: Echoes, ripples beyond the veilMirror backed by holy metalsHear us now and Trickster willingBend time to our voice and willShow us that which comes to passThe past we are and future seeingSight beyond the mortal coilAnd farther than the Reaper's bellAnd so, with smoke and mirrors bothThe fake magic of charlatansBend the fourth and pinch it closeThen close the loop and hold this spellFor when dismissed, let powers beReturn to nature and beyondLet not these echoes harm what willThough memory preserve us still
Relationships: Fia Boginya & Irena Ivanov
Series: Hey There Centaurs! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2196600
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	Kozyrev Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna write a little character study about Fia and loneliness called "+3 Friendship" but about 300 words into it I realized I has a tenuous grasp on Fia as a character (because of course I did; Emily's PCs are always the hardest for me to get a handle on for some reason and I want to do them justice). So I pulled back and decided to try and tackle Fia from another angle to get her voice a little better. And what better way to figure a character out than to have them talk to themself? Or a future version of themself?
> 
> (I'm sure there's better ways but shoosh, I'm a dreamer lmao.)
> 
> Shoutout to the lovely naddcord convo about how to spell Arina's name. I was gonna stick with Arina over Irena or Irina or Ireena regardless, but there's something to be said about having lore to back my aesthetic choice up lmao. (The A is sturdy and anchors the rest of the name.)
> 
> Are you proud of the person you've become? Do you think a younger version of yourself would idolize you? Hard questions.
> 
> I hope y'all like it.
> 
> (The title is taken from a type of mirror supposedly able to increase or unlock minor ESP and other precognative abilities. I was wiki walking and came across it and thought "well that's neat" and here we are.)
> 
> Edit: her name is spelled Irena IG so here we are lmao

After all is said and done, Fia will say it was Irena's magic that allowed this to come to pass and Irena will say it was Fia’s diligence that allowed this to come to pass, and _neither_ will take any more credit than a mere morsel. If any outside source was to be asked, they would simply say it was _both_ , though with no small amount of amusement that the two young ladies dent their part in the act—not out of fear for the Scaletippers, but for _deference_ to their friend, whom they considered to be greater in action and spirit than themselves.

The spell is written in an old language, _far_ older than Irena Ivanov—who, for all her Trickster-blessed innate talent, never received much in the way of _formal_ education—could understand. The spell _also_ requires specific ingredients— _many_ of which have toxic lookalikes—that Fia Boginya would mix up and get one of them killed by way of noxious smoke. Between the two of them, they manage to get together the ingredients to a grand ritual and the text translated to something sounding like a prayer.

“Are you _sure_ this is right?” Irena asks, bending over Fia’s shoulder to indicate the half-circle of candles and bundles of herb meant to burn as fuel for the ritual.

“As sure as I _can_ be?” Fia responds quietly. She gingerly turns a page and indicates a list. “The names are more... _vague_ , but I _believe_ they are just older terms for those plants. And _you_ are certain the ones you got are not their twin?”

“More than anything,” Irena puffs her chest out, _proud_. “I knew a few of them because I use them for food or medicine, but the rest I’m _absolutely certain_ are correct.”

“Then we can begin.” Fia nods her head. The tallow candles are arranged in a semicircle around a full-length mirror, the flickering light reflecting eternally into the silver backing like a somber halo.

The two girls sit, facing each other, hands clasped and heads bowed in a serene picture of reverence, foreheads touching ever-so-gently as Fia speaks. Her voice is low and soft until Irena squeezes her hand and sneaks her a smile. It picks up pace and volume, going from a soft reading to a call to something _far beyond_ the two young women alone.

" _Echoes, ripples beyond the veil, mirror backed by holy metals, hear us now and Trickster willing, bend time to our voice and will. Show us that which comes to pass, the past we are and future seeing, sight beyond the mortal coil, and farther than the Reaper's bell. And so, with smoke and mirrors both, the fake magic of charlatans, bend the fourth and pinch it close, then close the loop and hold this spell. For when dismissed, let powers be, return to nature and beyond, let not these echoes harm what will, though memory preserve us still._ "

The room they are in, suffused with smoke and flickering with low, warm candlelight, _bends_. Pressure changing enough to make Fia and Irena's ears pop, the two young girls fold slightly under the sudden weight. Then, almost as soon as it begins, it ends, and they look at each other.

"Did it work?" Irena asks, eyes never leaving Fia's face.

"We are not dead, _are_ we?" Fia asks, almost panicked. Her breath ekes from between her teeth, jaw clenched enough to ache. _This_ is why her father, why the Scaletippers, the Reaper _forbade_ magic. They did something unholy. _Wrong_.

It was _different_ when Irena did it, like she was breathing out the Trickster's very will. This was _grabbing_ and _wrenching_ and _pulling_. Breaking. Something _bad_.

As if sensing her anticipation, Irena presses her forehead against Fia's and sighs with her body. From that point of contact, a flush of cold washes the fear from Fia and she finds her breaths coming easier. Arina looks up at her again, cheeks flushed with exertion, and smiles. "Do _you_ think we are dead?"

" _No_ ," Fia exhales, "I do not think so."

"Then shall we see if it worked?" Irena tilts her head at the mirror neither of them have looked at since starting the ritual. " _Together_?"

" _Together_." They steel themselves, then turn.

And _pause_.

In the mirror is a woman—older than them, though not _old_ old. Between her teeth is a cigar, glowing red in the low light of whatever room she is in. Her eyes are wide with surprise, eyebrows vanishing into her fringe, and she is white-knuckling the hilt of a longsword at her hip.

"She looks like _you_ , Fia." Irena nudged Fia in the side, causing her to stumble slightly within the circle, squeaking in surprise.

" _Oh_ ," the woman in the mirror says, and she sounds so much like Fia and so different. "I remember this, I think. _I_...this is...so _this_ is what it is like from this side." She removes the cigar from between her teeth, flashing prominent tusks in a wary smile. It flickers and smokes between her fingers.

"You... _remember_?" Fia asks.

The woman nods, exhaling smoke. "I remember this, _yes_. I remember it from when _I_ did this ritual with _my_ friend. I remember being _very proud_ that I could do something like this, _even if_ it was not of my own virtue, on my own _merit_. I remember being afraid of the consequences." She takes a long, meaningful pause, returning the cigar to her mouth. "I remember it not mattering much."

"Are you _Fia_?" The woman nods and Irena bounces in place, flapping her hands slightly. "You're Fia from the future, then?" Another nod. Arina spins on her heel to clasp Fia's hands. " _You were right_! It _was_ a spell for the future!"

Fia is _dumbstruck_. This woman— _older_ , yes, but _stronger_ somehow, with eyes that have _seen_ things—is _her_? This woman with short hair—Father would _never_ let her cut her hair, lest she look too much like Mother—and a sword—does she know how to _use_ it? it looks well worn—who is smoking a cigar—a _vice_ , disallowed in the village—is _her_? Years ahead of now, _this_ is where time takes her?

It's exhilarating and _terrifying_ in equal amounts and Fia shakes as she bottles up the many feelings.

The Fia from the future, the woman in the mirror, smiles softly at Fia and inclines her head at her. "It is going to be alright. It will be scary, sure—the future _always_ is, as it is _unknown_ —but it is going to be _alright_."

"How do you _know_?" Fia asks. She can feel Irena staring at her, concerned, but she doesn't care in this moment. Time is scary, the _possibility_ is scary, and this woman who has lived ahead of Fia is saying it will be _alright_? " _Aside_ from having lived what I will go through, how can you be certain that it is going to be alright? Even for _yourself_? Even for _Irena_? Where is _she_ in this mirror you are by?"

The woman in the mirror grimaces, draws back, and Fia recognizes hurt and discomfort in her own face, flushing with shame.

"I did not—" She tries to apologize but the woman in the mirror cuts her off with a hand wave and a huff of air and cigar smoke.

"Do not apologize for asking questions. Asking questions is how we learn and we _love_ to learn. _All_ of us." She locks eyes with Irena, who is watching her every movement with awe and amazement and concern. "Irena is...I have asked myself this question every day since this one. _Why_ the spell only showed me. _Why_ the spell did not show Irena or where she was. _Maybe_ it is that Irena is not near a mirror or reflective surface. _Maybe_ it is that _I_ was the one to _say_ the spell. _Maybe_ it is just the Trickster's will; to play with us in this way." The woman in the mirror picks at her tusk with one finger before continuing. "I do not think I will _ever_ know. I do not think it is not for us to know _why_. Time is strange that way, but I _can_ say that you do learn _many_ things. You just have to _apply_ yourself, Fia." She winks.

Irena reaches out and grabs Fia's hand, squeezing it sharply to remind her that she is here too. Fia squeezes back, warmth and strength flooding her system. _She isn't alone_. She isn't scared. _Irena_ is here. She can be strong.

"And what then? What is the purpose of this magic then, save to link two moments together like a window?" Irena asks. As she speaks, Fia watches the woman in the mirror's face. Watches grief paint her smile, pull it taut and wring the happiness and nostalgia from it. Fia frowns, faint, but remains quiet. They aren't sure how long this will last, after all. The magic could dissipate at any moment. Best let their questions be answered first before pursuing selfish curiosity.

"Just that, insofar as _I_ know." The woman in the mirror shrugs, the lit tip of her cigar swinging to the side as she speaks. "The wording was... _vague_ , certainly, and I have never once found that spell since, so I can only speculate, but it seems like a way to pinch two moments in time closer together." She presses the pads of her index finger and her thumb together. "Allow for _viewing_ , yes, but also _communication_. Anyone can see somewhere, even _in time_ , with practice. It takes _quite_ a lot to bring two-way communication into the fold."

Irena nods, dissatisfied but understanding, and gives Fia's hand a squeeze. Fia squeezes back.

" _Echoes_ , the spell called for, and this is what has happened. I am an echo for you and _you_ , for me. We meet in this place but that is all we can do. Meet. Speak. _Learn_." The woman in the mirror smiles, soft, sad, and nods her head. The mirror flickers.

The magic is fading. The spell has done what it was supposed to do. The candles are low, the smoke thinning, and the mirror's surface flickers with liquid metal, alternating between the image of the woman far in the future and the two young ladies who called to her from across time and space.

"You said it will be okay _but_ —!" Fia calls out, cutting herself off midway to think her words more.

"Will she be okay?" Irena asks in her stead.

"She will...time is _hard_. _Change_ is hard. _Will be_ hard." The woman in the mirror chokes on her thoughts for a second, then swallows heavily, and tries again. "It will _hurt_ , but yes. She will be okay. And so, I believe, will _you_."

Fia nods, hands shaking as she holds on to Irena's like it's a lifeline. " _Thank you_."

The woman in the mirror, holding in a breath, reaches forward and presses her hand against whatever reflective surface she is looking in. "Fia, _if_...may I ask something? Before I go?" Fia nods. "Are...are you _proud_ of me? Of what I— _we_ —have become?"

Fia stares at herself, at this woman that _is_ what she _will be_ , some time in the future. She takes in how her eyes seem sharp but empty, longing, like pools of water where the depth is hidden behind their crystal color. She takes in the scars across her face and hands, marks of a _hard_ life but a life that has been fought for. She takes in the choppy haircut and the cigar in her teeth and the metal stud in her nose. She takes in the leather armor she's wearing and the tattoos up and down her visible arms and the bandoleer of books at her hip. She takes in all of this woman, of herself, and makes a decision.

She nods.

The last thing Irena and Fia see before the mirror becomes a mundane reflective surface is the look of sheer relief on the woman in the mirror's face when Fia nods. And, in the silence that follows, they hold each other's hands and think about the future and the past and how they are _so lucky_ to have one another.

(As the reflection of her past dissipates, Fia Boginya scrubs tears from her eyes. Sobbing slightly, it's all she can do to bite down on the noise so she doesn't wake up Zirk or Henry.)

(She is _proud_ of herself, of the person she has become. If only she had known, back then, how much that meant to her now. But she knows _now_ and she's going to _continue_ to make herself proud. It's the least she can do. The person she was deserves someone to look up to.)


End file.
